The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Well,” Jenny thought, “I lost the bet. The bet, and a lot of other things. I used to laugh when people told me that gambling was a bad idea. Still, I doubt that they were talking about quite this set of circumstances. How did I come to be here? Oh yes.” Her nipples hardened even more (if that were possible) as it all came back to her.

The stand-up comic who introduced the act sucked. Bad, bad puns delivered with nothing resembling comedic timing. Jenny was sitting at the table with Rod, listening to the bad, bad puns (or, rather, she was ignoring them in favor of Rod). God, she loved Rod. He was a big guy, very muscular, with short blond hair that he greased ‘til it stood straight up. He was a real knight-in-shining armor type. Jenny knew that if there ever was a problem (God forbid), if Jenny ever needed defending, Rod would stand up for her, protect her. She’d be his Guinevere, and he would be her... she didn’t know... Lancelot or something. It had been awhile since she had read any Arthurian romances, but she was pretty certain that Lancelot fit the metaphor more aptly than Arthur. Not that it was that great of a metaphor. Rod was definitely very Anglo-American, which wouldn’t be right for a French knight (wasn’t he French?) or a Welsh king (she was pretty certain that Arthur was Welsh). And Jenny wasn’t quite a classical Guinevere either.

It wasn’t that she was bad-looking; quite the opposite. But Guinevere was always tall and pale and had long, flowing waves of blonde hair. Of these attributes, only one applied to Jenny; her skin was, indeed, pale. Rather than being a tall, blonde WASP, however, she was a short, brunette Russian-American, with short, straight hair which would look lousy in a Pre-Raphaelite painting. She tried to encourage herself by claiming that one out of three wasn’t bad. A cute one, 21 with a perfectly formed, properly plump, ass. And a nice pair of tits, although not as large as she’d like. She longed to be one of those girls that guys described as voluptuous, (although, she often noted, the term simply meant pleasing, and she was that). Still, even though she was pleasing (particularly the aforementioned ass), she wasn’t... you know, voluptuous, in the common meaning.

Her clothing was also very un-Guinevere; she wore a crimson t-shirt, with a dark red dress-shirt over it. She also wore a pair of blue jeans, comfortably fit, but not too tight. She was one of the few girls she knew who still had an ounce of self-respect clothing-wise. Actually, it was a mix of an ounce of self respect and an ounce of timidity; she didn’t like the concept of a bunch of strangers ogling her as she walked down the street. Her ass might be pleasant, but their eyes weren’t. The nice, girl-next-door image was completed by a pair of pink all-star high tops.

Rod was nuzzling her earlobe, but she pushed him away; the club supposedly had some hypnotist act coming up, and she was interested to see it. Jenny had written a paper at one point about hypnosis, for one class or another. She had always found the entire concept not only unbelievable (as most people did), but actually rather silly. Her paper argued her point of view, that the entire thing was a hoax, a charade. She had written three more papers about it, throughout the years (“never surrender a good subject,” she always said). In spite of this, she had never seen a hypnotist stage show. That was the entire reason that she had dragged Rod to this club in the first place, was to see this show. She couldn’t wait to punch a big show in this charlatan’s act; she had to do it on his opening night, to humiliate him with the evidence of his facade. She hadn’t been drinking this particular night. While she was certain that she could prove him wrong while drunk, she wanted to be at her best, so he didn’t try to slip some measly excuse by, or turn the whole incident into some joke, convince the audience that this was all part of the act. No, she was ready to make certain that Dr. Control went down. Seriously, “Dr. Control”. He deserved to go down just for that idiot name.

She’d even brought a digital camera, so that she could have a short video of her victory over the hoax. This she could post on her blog. Her friends would get a giggle out of that. She was prepared. She had already written some of the humorous captions to put next to the pictures, and had even brought along a miniature tripod to put the camera on, in case Rod’s hands got tired. She was looking forward to this.

“Okay, folks, give it up, and get it up, for Dr. Control” warbled the comedian, Larry something, as he clapped his hands, holding them out in front of him, in a broad, exaggerated gesture. Standing about five-foot-ten, Larry something looked like a caricature of a stand-up comedian, a skinny Jewish guy with a recedingly frizzy hairline and a calico plaid suit. Truly terrible. He was clapping, walking backwards across the dusty wooden stage, peering left and right over his shoulder in the hopes of spotting the next act emerging out of the dusty red velvet curtains, before the crowd through vegetables or something. Then his wishes were granted.

While Larry something was distracting the audience with his fearful exit in the spotlight, Dr. Control had crept onto the stage, up to the microphone, without attracting notice, even from the person in charge of lighting, since the spotlight bounced in shock, and then snapped into position over him in surprise. The doctor was a tall, impossibly thin man, with windswept red-blonde hair, skin far paler than Jenny’s, and high, high cheekbones. He wore all black, all his clothes fit impossibly tight to his skeletal body. His clothes were so black, in fact, that you could see no details of them, except for his white necktie in a sea of midnight. He looked about thirty years old, and there was something peculiar about his eyes. Upon being noticed by the spotlight, he smiled a crooked smile, and bowed his head slightly. There were scattered, embarrassed laughs from the audience as they realized that they had just ignored the star attraction. He snapped his thin white fingers and beckoned to someone evidently waiting in the wings, out of view.

A tall, thin, Goth girl emerged. She was wearing black stilettos and walking elegantly, an art that Jenny had never mastered, hence the sneakers. Above the stilettos were a pair of dancer’s legs, spiderwebbed with fishnet stockings. The mystery of was a fashionable, well dressed creature might wear for lingerie was kept by a beautiful, tight white dress, a miniskirt with a white lace fringe that hung just low enough to obscure from view, even standing up on stage as she was, the aforementioned wonderful mystery. Whatever her panties might be, her bra was most assuredly black and lacy, as the straps poked out of the top of the white dress. Straps, incidentally, straining against the weight of a mighty bosom, tight against the front of the miniskirt. To go with the white dress, she wore long, white opera gloves which came up nearly to her shoulders, elegant opera gloves which snaked outwards to push back the black cape she was wearing, a shining black velvet aura hanging halfway down her thighs, framing the gothic masterpiece that was her torso. On top of it all sat a hat, but it was more than a hat. It was a femme fatale’s hat, jauntily angled, black, with a flat, low crown, a wide brim, two long, thin feathers on one side, black raven’s feathers, and a veil, masking, revealing, and framing the woman’s face as much as the fishnets both masked and revealed her legs, and as the cape framed her body. And what a face to frame! She had skin as pale as the doctor’s, a heart shaped face, with playful, grey eyes lined black as night, accompanied by black lipsticked lips, forming a calm, knowing smile. The only strongly coloured part of her body was her gorgeous, curly hair which stood perfectly on the dividing line between red and black. Her hair, worn loose, cascaded down to her shoulders like kinked auburn smoke. When she slid into place behind the doctor, she pulled the veil halfway back, so that when she smiled with her pure white teeth, the men in the audience melted fearfully. Jenny just sat there, not noticing that Rod was staring, since she too was staring. Jenny was by no means a lesbian, but she was still struck by the Goth girl’s beauty.

Noticing that he had been upstaged by his assistant’s entrance, Dr. Control decided to retake command. He turned to the audience, smiled, and spoke, in a smooth, low voice: “Hello, I am Dr. Control, and this is my lovely assistant Natasha.” He an intelligent, upper-class British accent, the kind associated with Masterpiece Theatre. Natasha curtsied coyly. Her breasts bobbed delightfully, and half the men in the audience sighed. The other half held their breath. Natasha winked at the audience. Jenny was alternately jealous and curious if Natasha was really a Russian.

Dr. Control looked slightly annoyed. Again, his assistant had stolen his thunder. In a sarcastically cheerful tone, he commented under his breath: “Keep in mind that you’re only the assistant, love, not the star of the show, or I’ll hypnotize you into stripping naked up here on stage, and then you’ll really be the star of the show.” The women in the audience giggled. The men laughed, hooted, and made cat-calls. Natasha’s smile, however vanished and a look of panic came into her eyes for a moment.

“She’s a good actress,” thought Jenny, shaking her head, “they’re not letting on that their act is... well, just that. An act. Very smart, don’t ruin the mood.” She decided to take a picture of Dr. Control, a close up, for her blog. She almost dropped the camera when he said the next sentence.

“After all, that’s what we all really want to see a hypnotist do, isn’t it? Not just to make someone bark like a dog, or, rather, to pay a lackey in the audience to bark like one. No, we want to see something a bit more... extreme. To see people do things that they normally wouldn’t do. I know, I know, according to my patter, this is the stage where I say that when you’re hypnotized, I couldn’t make you do anything that you would never do on your own... but that is not true. When I have you hypnotized, you are my slave, and I can make you do anything. For the time being, however, I will go with one simple trick, a bet actually.” He paused dramatically. Jenny thought to herself: “Now he’s going way overboard. Well, why not? If your claim’s unsupportable to begin with, you might as well go crazy with it.”

“How many of you believe in what I just said? Honestly?” Dr. Control asked, seriously. Nobody in the audience raised their hand. The doctor smiled aggressively, as did Natasha. “So then lots of you will be taking me up on my little bet.” One of the girls in the audience shouted “You bet your ass!”

“Fine. I’m afraid that this offer is only good for attractive young ladies. You see, the bet is this: I bet one thousand dollars to any woman in the audience that I can hypnotize her. If she can come on to this stage, stare into my eyes, and then refuse to do what I tell her to, then she gets the thousand dollars. If she cannot refuse my commands, then she will lose no money. She will lose, however, her clothes, save for her panties. There look to be quite a number of attractive ladies in the audience tonight, and so I either stand to lose a lot of money,” he reached into the shadow which must have been his jacket and pulled out a thick wad of hundred dollar bills, “or I stand to see a lot of naked bodies. When all of the willing women in the audience have been shorn of their dignity, then each will be spanked, in turn, by my assistant. This is the stage when they lose everything. The humiliation will be shared with the world, via the subsequent publication, on the internet, of photographs that my assistant will take during the proceedings.” There were scattered laughs from the audience. Dr. Control was laying it on pretty thick. Natasha licked her lips and waggled her eyebrows. Now there were great peels of laughter from the audience. Dr. Control’s smile faltered. “My assistant, I repeat, spanks and photographs the volunteers, or rather, victims, although I may decide to do the spanking myself, starting with dear Natasha if she doesn’t stick purely to her pleasurable duty.” Again, the audience roared, and again the fearful expression flashed across Natasha’s face. Jenny laughed so hard her sides hurt. The whole act was so vaudeville.

“Now, I would like the lovely young volunteer victims to line up on stage.” Jenny stood up as fast as she could, passing the camera to Rod. She hadn’t expected him to pull ahead with the show so soon. If someone else showed him up first, her plan would be ruined (well, she would still be proven right, but she’d miss out on the bragging rights). Forward, she charged, noting the beeping noise behind her as Rod started the camera recording. She ran to the steps that led up to the stage, but two women got into line ahead of her. Damn. She was impressed with the competition. There were fifteen girls lined up on stage; well, fourteen girls and one woman quickly approaching middle age. It seemed like every woman in the place was volunteering. Squinting to look at the audience, she realized that this was exactly true. There were only about thirty people in the club (it was a slow night), and all of the women were onstage. “Apparently a grand for a sure bet was too much of a temptation to resist. How did Dr. Control think that this act was going to be a success? He’s going to lose fifteen thousand dollars, if he has that much,” Jenny mused to herself. “I mean, it is his first performance, but still, he could have put more thought into it than that.” The stage was suddenly flooded with light, and Jenny was temporarily blinded. After a few moments, her eyes adjusted, and she noticed that the doctor was now facing the row of women.

Dr. Control pointed to the middle-aged woman and ordered her: “You. You heard what I said about the offer only being good for attractive, young women. One out of three is not good enough. Get off the stage.” The audience went silent. Everyone was shocked. Then someone booed. The woman, looking heartbroken, descended from the stage. Dr. Control turned back to face the audience, and smiled knowingly, saying “Come on, boys, you wouldn’t want to see her naked anyhow.” Jenny’s outrage melted into a guffaw. She couldn’t help herself. His timing and delivery was so perfect, Jenny wondered if the woman hadn’t been a plant, just for that one mean, vicious, funny line.

“That’s how the good doctor intends to get through the night without losing money; the first two women in line were sitting together, right next to the stairs to the stage so that they would definitely be the first up; they’re plants!” Jenny thought, “He’ll ‘convince’ both of them to strip down to their panties (just look at the first one; she even look like a stripper), and the plan is, the rest of us back down, frightened that maybe it’s not a hoax. Then he has us over a barrel; we have to believe the rest of his act, or else we admit that we chickened out. It’s clever, really. The only problem is that I know his secret; I’ll still prove him wrong, and get a thousand bucks out of it, too.”

Dr. Control turned to the line of girls. “If any of you want to back out of the deal, this is your last chance.” He spoke with absolute calm, and looked each one of them in the eye, all down the line. Jenny played her part, looking innocent, and shaking her head. Several other girls did the same. One said “no”. Nobody left the stage.

“So much for intimidation,” Jenny thought, and smiled, “Still, it’s not like it’s actually our last chance out. We’ll be offered at least two more last second reprieves, which we are expected to take.” This was going to be fun.

“Very well. I ask the audience not to interrupt. Or else.” Dr. Control turned to the first girl in line, a slender (although bulging in all the right places) Latina, about 5′9″, with brown skin, dark even for a Hispanic, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and dark brown eyes. A brown beauty. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses pushed down low, almost to the tip of her cute button nose, a dark brown leather jacket, a sky blue tube top so tight that you could see the texture of her lacy lingerie if you looked hard enough. Part of the tightness of the tube top, of course, was her large pair of breasts, each one nearly the size of her head. Down below she was wearing a pair of incredibly tight hip-hugger jeans, low cut, so that you could see the top of her equally lacy red thong over it. Similarly to the tightness of the top, the tightness of the jeans could be accredited to splendid proportions. She stood in a pair of high-heeled boots, also leather, although her heels paled in comparison to the ones Natasha wore. Looking over her sunglasses, into his eyes, she smiled perkily, a wide smile that filled her face with gleaming teeth. He smiled back, without parting his lips, tilting his head forward so that he was looking at her through his thin blond eyebrows.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Maria.”

“How old are you?”

“19.”

“I would like everyone to note: Maria is not old enough to buy at the bar, and proof that I have not spiked her drink with anything that would make her more... malleable. Now, take your clothes off, Maria.”

Maria continued smiling for a moment, until a look of shock went across her face, as she turned to face the audience, and her right hand reached up, and pulled off her sunglasses then dropped them to the stage floor. “Very well acted,” Jenny thought. Maria’s expression became even more panicked as she shrugged off her leather jacket, then kicked off her boots. Maria paused in her stripping to undo her ponytail, her eyes, wide, darting from side to side. She made a horrified guttural noise as her hands went to the hem of her tube top, and began lifting. Maria’s bra, as it turned out, was the same shade of scarlet as her thong, and had a similar, although not identical, lace pattern. Maria closed her eyes and bit her lip as her hands quickly did her belt buckle, and then slid her pants off. She did, however, open her eyes when her bra came off. Her “hooters,” as it were, earned their name, as members of the audience shouted out their appreciation. Her nipples stood up on end out of embarrassment. Jenny grinned, and thought to herself “That performance deserved an Oscar. She must have dreams of being an actress.” Jenny glanced at the rest of the girls onstage. They seemed to be thinking the same thing. The blonde girl just ahead of Jenny was snickering (“So much for unity amongst strippers” Jenny sneered, mentally).

“Maria, Maria, Maria, you may not be old enough to buy a drink, but you are definitely legal for other purposes,” Dr. Control sneered, waggling his eyebrows less adorably than Natasha, “Purposes so unseemly that we may just have to try them out, here onstage.” Maria’s hands flew up to cover her breasts (or at least her nipples, as her breasts, as a whole were far too large to cover so easily). The doctor tsked, then spoke to Maria rather more irritably:

“Feel free to cover yourself, but bear in mind that any girl hypnotized by me who tries such tactics will be hypnotized to never wear clothes again.”

As Natasha stepped in forward with a digital camera, Dr. Control moved on to the next girl. This one was a petite blonde, skinny, with an upturned Scandinavian nose, a healthy tan, and watery blue eyes. Judging from the nose, the face-shape, and the white-blond hair she had pulled back in pigtails, the girl’s ancestry was entirely Scandinavian, or very close. “She must have been very careful to get that tanned without burning,” thought Jenny. She was as thin as a rail, a fact that a college sweatshirt (UCLA Berkeley) did nothing to disguise. Still, she had a nicely rounded ass, obvious in spite of the loose grey sweatpants that she was wearing. In opposition to the slightly sloppily cute nature of her look, she was wearing white Nikes that looked like they had just been taken out of the box; there wasn’t a speck of dust on them. The entire image was of a sexily wholesome girl next door, perhaps a former cheerleader. Jenny hated the undoubted bimbo (Berkeley or no) already, and didn’t feel at all sorry that she was evidently working her way through college as a stripper for a cheap, melodramatic hypnosis act. The blonde gave Dr. Control a winning smile, to which the doctor responded with the same coy look of victory, peering at her through his eyebrows.

“And what’s your name, little girl?”

“It’s Alison.”

“And how old are you?”

“22 years old.”

“Charming. And are you really a student at Berkeley?”

“Absolutely. I’m majoring in philosophy.”

“Wonderful, love. You’re just about to get down to the naked truth.”

As Alison turned to face the audience and began to strip, Jenny thought to herself “I won’t be able to stand many more of his puns. I’m sort of surprised that he didn’t offer us another chance to ‘escape’.” Alison crouched down to untie her shoes, staring down at her hands, apparently stunned. Of the major clothing items, the first off were Alison’s sweatpants. Two thongs in a row! This one was hot pink, and the audience were delighted. On the other hand, her beautiful tanned legs were perfectly shaped, but did look a little silly supporting a torso swaddled in a sweatshirt about four sizes too large. This peculiar effect did not last long, as the sweatshirt was the next item to come off revealing an equally oversized Lakers t-shirt. While the exact nature of Alison’s breasts was still a bit of an unknown, it was now obvious that, in spite of her slim figure, she was not flat-chested. Next came her white ankle socks, to the annoyance of the men in the audience, who wanted the Lakers shirt to be the next item removed. “We don’t care if you wear socks, we want to see your tits!” came a cry from the peanut gallery. They were not disappointed, as the offending Lakers shirt fell to the floor and a silky white bra was revealed, as well as a necklace, a crucifix on a thin silver chain, which hung down to her modest cleavage. Again, Alison’s breasts were given a temporary reprieve, as she unhooked the necklace and dropped it onto the pile of clothes at her feet. Finally, the deer-in-headlights look in her eyes broke, and she seemed to be overwhelmed by embarrassment, blushing as red as she could, and as far as she could. “Get used to it,” Jenny thought, “After all, this is how you chose to work your way through college.” At long last, the polite request, as voice by the audience member, to see Alison’s tits, was granted. In spite of the small size of Alison as a whole, her breasts were average sized, maybe a double C-Cup, which was quite large for her body. They also stood out because they were the only part of her body which wasn’t tanned a nice golden bronze. Her nipples, which were evidently as hard as it was possible to be, stood out an amazing distance. She raised her hands a bit, then dropped them to her sides again. “Good little bit of high-school-drama-student acting,” thought Jenny, “Like she’s fighting the urge to cover her boobs. Hell, maybe she is.” Jenny’s grin widened as she noted that not one girl had been intimidated into leaving the stage. “He’s going to lose a fortune.”

“Alison, do you belong to a Sorority?” Dr. Control asked smugly.

“Y- Yes.” Alison responded shakily.

“Excellent, I’ll make certain that all your ‘sisters’ get the photos that Natasha is about to take. Plus maybe some local Frats. As a public service, you see. Plus, I’ll have to send your parents a copy if you get anything below a 4.0 in ‘Hypnotized Sexual Humiliation 101’. Sadly, those breasts of yours, while very nice, simply aren’t good enough, by which I mean large enough. You can’t get more than a 3.6, I’m afraid. Now, on to the next tart.” As he made this last comment, Dr. Control turned to face Jenny.

“Aren’t you going to ‘be a gentleman’ and offer me a last-minute get-out-of-jail-free card?” Jenny asked, genuinely surprised, “Oh, and I don’t really appreciate being called a tart.”

“I already offered you one. What part of ‘this is your last chance’ didn’t you understand? You must be the stupidest tart here, and the rest of these girls look pretty air-headed,” He responded, his voice coated with honey and battery acid. Jenny bristled, but remained calm. “He’s just trying to get you to stomp off stage in anger,” she told herself.

“Oh, no, no, I was just trying to save you a thousand big ones,” she replied, affecting a high-handed tone equal to the doctor’s.

“Why, you are a stupid, stupid tart.” He sneered.

“I’ll have you know that I’m a history major. Another Berkeley girl.”

“How do so many brainless tarts get into that school? Didn’t you learn anything from the recent histories of Alison and Maria here?”

“I learned to earn extra cash by winning it away from fake hypnotists, instead of stripping for them,” she responded, adding: “It’s less degrading, and probably pays better.”

“You’re quite the saucy one. You’ve just volunteered yourself for special status. Once you’ve removed your clothes, Natasha will shred them with these,” he said, while pulling a large pair of fabric scissors from some unseen pocket. “You’ll have to walk out of here naked.”

Jenny gave Dr. Control her best toothy, predatory smile and looked him straight in the eyes, going in for the kill. “You mean when I walk out of here completely clothed, with your money in my wallet.” The doctor looked back at her, inclining his head forwards. Finally she realized what was weird about his eyes; they were different colours, and the pupils were dilated to different degrees. The pupil of his left eye was huge and the iris was grey. His right eye had a small pupil, with brown around it. It was sort of creepy, but not exactly hypnosis. After all, if it was hypnosis, shouldn’t she feel sleepy, or light-headed, or something?

“Now, what’s your name?”

“Jenny. And my age is 21.”

“Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

“I’m eager to take your money.”

“That’s not going to happen. Your total humiliation, however, is on tonight’s agenda.”

Jenny opened her mouth, to point out what a fraud the whole act was, when her right foot, her whole right leg, acting of it’s own volition, turned sideways to face the audience. Confused, Jenny mentally ordered her leg to return to it’s previous position. Somebody else, unfortunately, was mentally ordering her leg to behave otherwise, and overruling her inside her own body. Her left leg swung around to the spot next to her right, equally outside Jenny’s control. She was now facing the club full of men. “This can’t be happening! He’s a fake!” Jenny tried to shout, but no words left her mouth, even as she realized how untrue both statements were. Now she crouched, removing her shoes, untying them manically, far faster than she would have naturally. Next off came her socks, although in spite of Dr. Control’s threats, Natasha left the footwear intact. “Please,” Jenny begged inside her mind, “At the very least don’t destroy my clothes like he said, even if I am exposed in front of all these men, don’t leave me naked before the entire world!”

Jenny stood up again, and stared out into the darkness, while she could feel her own hands unbuttoning her dress shirt, uncontrollably. Squinting her eyes, she made out Rod among the shadows in which the audience sat. He was staring at her in horror and confusion. Worse, the digital camera was set up on the tripod on the table, recording everything. Jenny’s eyes widened in terror.

Any and all hope was dashed when she handed her dress-shirt to Natasha, and heard the smooth slicing noise of a sleeve being cut off. Within seconds the sleeve, followed by the rest of the shirt, was reduced to dark red cotton confetti. Meanwhile, Jenny’s shaking hands pulled her crimson t-shirt over her head, revealing for all to see her red silk double c-cup, to be specific a push-up bra that let the entire audience get a good view of her cleavage. She curse her nipples as they hardened in response to some perverse urge, preparing themselves for their debut in public. Just as she was about to hand her shirt to Natasha for destruction, she heard Rod shout “Hey you!".

“Stop,” commanded Dr. Control, and she did, freezing so still that she was barely breathing, although she was able to swivel her eyes to look at Dr. Control, and then back at Rod again. Jenny’s heart jumped into her throat, as a mad faith that Rod would somehow save her from her horrible fate lodged itself in her mind. Then she looked back to Dr. Control and her heart sunk out of her throat, and into her stomach. The doctor looked as if he had been expecting something like this, and was smiling confidently.

“That’s my girlfriend, and I’ll kick the Holy Shit out of you if you say one more word!” Shouted Rod, his anger overpowering his fear. The lighting technician, finally having something to do, swung a spot light around to illuminate Rod.

“How gallant. Throw me your wallet, then strip entirely naked except for your shoes and socks.” Rod sputtered as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it to the doctor, who caught it with one spidery thin hand. As Rod began removing his clothes, Dr. Control began going through the wallet, liberating any cash he might find. He pulled out Rod’s debit card.

“What’s your pin number?”

“9-0-8-7.”

“Very good. Do not report this card missing until next month, and claim any purchases or withdrawals that were made on it in the remainder of this month to be purchases you made. Whatever you do, don’t tell them I stole it. Also, you are no longer Jenny’s boyfriend, and if you live with her, you will move out immediately.” Rod was now entirely naked, trying to cover his penis, which was erect with embarrassment, with his hands. “You may now go, if you please. Or stay. What you may not do is touch the clothes lying at your feet.” Rod ran out of the club as fast as he could. A number of the girls on stage couldn’t help giggling, even as they realized their fate, but the men in the audience were uncharacteristically silent. They had realized that they too could be victims of this mad doctor. The moments of silence didn’t last long, as they quickly decided to do the only sensible thing, and enjoy the show, chanting “Take it off! Take it off!” at Jenny. The doctor turned to face her and nodded.

Back in motion against her will, she handed the t-shirt to Natasha, then pulled her belt off. The audience was now stomping their feet and clapping their hands shouting obscene suggestions at her. Jenny’s eyes were no longer wide from shock, now they were squeezed almost shut, fighting back tears of humiliation. She dropped her pants, and the crowd went silent for a moment, then broke into cries mocking her “granny panties.” However mortified Jenny was before, she was more so now.

“Oh shush now.” They were the closest thing to kind words that Jenny had heard Dr. Control say this evening. “I rather like panties that cover the entire posterior... they allow for more mystery, building expectations,” as he spoke, he pulled the elastic waistband of her panties far out in back, then let it snap back into place painfully, “That’s why I have Natasha wear them all the time... white ones, with little red hearts.” Natasha looked embarrassed for the first time that evening.

“Now the bra.” Jenny could feel herself blushing bright red, but had to obey... it was beyond her control. The audience, as one, let out a great cheer as her breasts were exposed for all to see. She suddenly wished that they were larger, like Maria’s, but then she considered the possibility that that might be even more terrible. Chagrinned, she looked down at her nipples, oddly large for her tits, and standing straight up.

“Another Berkeley girl, eh? So, are you part of a sorority? How do you afford a school like that?”

“No. I live in an apartment with Rod. We were both working our way through college, with help from my parents and some scholarships.”

“Well, much like Alison here, your failure to achieve a 4.0 in this class, due to insufficiently large breasts, means that your parents will be notified, as well as your employers and the organizations from which you are receiving your scholarships. Further, as you have not joined a sorority, I will solicit you to them, sending them your picture and some relevant information. Ditto for the Fraternities, as you’ll be looking for a new boyfriend. See? I’m not all bad. I’ll even make sure that you can stay in your current apartment, money will not be a problem, although I do recommend you join a sorority. A stupid, if well educated, tart like you needs a support group of similar bubbleheads.” After snapping her waistband again, he moved on to his next victim, a buxom Jewish girl in a royal purple miniskirt and matching top, with a pair of Buddy Holly glasses.

“Well,” Jenny thought, “I lost the bet. The bet, and a lot of other things. I used to laugh when people told me that gambling was a bad idea. Still, I doubt that they were talking about quite this set of circumstances. How did I come to be here? Oh yes.” Her nipples hardened even more (if that were possible) as it all came back to her.

Jenny glanced over at Alison and Maria. They both had progressed from fear and confusion to a sort of terrible, embarrassed calm. Jenny wasn’t surprised. Her own emotions were heading in that direction, a doomed reaction caused by the realization that she could never be more humiliated that she was now, or so she thought. She could feel her face setting into a blushing, disgraced poker face. All she had to do now was hope for it to all be over soon. She glanced over her other shoulder, and noticed that several girls seemed to be trying to move their feet, to run from the stage, but it was as if their heels were glued in place. This did not stop them from trying, however, particularly the girl whose dramatic uncovering was to come immediately after the busty Jewish girl’s.

“Please, don’t make me do this.”

“Well, since you put it that way, what’s your name?”

“Emily.”

“...And how old are you?”

“24.”

“Well, Emily, I already gave you a chance to back out, and you didn’t take it. If it’s any condolence, you did volunteered for this, back when you thought that you could earn an easy thousand dollars, and frankly, you still can earn that thousand dollars. All you have to do is prove that your will is strong enough that I cannot snap it like a dry twig. I just doubt that you have enough self control to stop yourself from stripping. Right. Now.”

At this moment, Natasha stepped in front of Jenny, and pointed a camera at her face. Jenny snapped to attention, putting the most pathetic, pleading, manipulative look possible on her face, so that Natasha might have a change of heart, and not take the picture. Natasha seemed uninterested in any change of heart, carefully lining up a close-up of Jenny’s face. The camera beeped. Then Natasha looked at Jenny over the camera, and opened her mouth to speak. “Has she had a change of heart?” The thought was too good to be true.

“That was for our website. Now, smile for the camera.”

Jenny couldn’t help it; a big, goofy grin spread across her face, even reaching her eyes, so that it looked totally genuine, even if it didn’t reach her brain. Jenny was a bit surprised that Natasha also had the power of hypnosis. Up until this point, she had assumed that Natasha was also hypnotized, not a willing accomplice, but if she was also capable of mind control... The camera beeped again, and Natasha lowered it. As the camera lower, so did Jenny’s smile.

“That was for your parents. It’s better if daddy’s little girl looks like she’s enjoying her foray into porn. Well, better for us, worse for you.” The camera beeped again, this time a close-up of her tits.

“Y-you mean you really are going to send a picture to my parents?”

“Oh, absolutely. We don’t make false claims. Well, sometimes we do leave things out, for instance, we’ll just say that you stripped for us willingly.”

“But, but—”

“You took the bet willingly. You knew what you were betting.” The camera beeped again, this time a shot of her entire naked body. “By the way, what’s your full name?”

“Jennifer Lisa Talanova.”

“That’s all we need to know. Thank you.”

Natasha’s thanking her was less than convincing, particularly since it was accompanied by another snap of the waistband elastic. Meanwhile, the Jewish girl was down to her panties, a blue thong. She had a nice face, with a largish nose and curly black hair which hung about halfway down her back, but the real star of the show was her body, a little heavier than was fashionable, but with huge breasts and an ample posterior, on display. Had everyone else opted for a thong?

“Well, Emily, it seems obvious that you don’t have what it take to refuse my commands. Actually, with your level of willpower, I suspect that there was no need to use hypnosis to get you to show off your titties, I could have just told you firmly and you would have done it, or perhaps I would have had to slip you a $5 bill.” When he said the word “titties” he flicked one of Emily’s nipples with his finger. Without thinking, Emily put her hands over her erect nipples. There was a gasp from the audience, and from the rest of the girls. Unexpectedly, Alison shouted “Take it easy on her!”

“Didn’t you hear me when I told Maria about the penalty for covering herself?” Dr. Control’s voice was absolute calm. Emily dropped her hands to her sides.

“No, you might as well cover yourself. It’s what you’re going to spend the rest of your life doing, anyway. You may never again wear clothes without my direct permission.” With this, he grabbed hold of her panties and tore them in two, ripping them off of her body. Emily squeaked, and her hands flew downwards to cover her shaven scrotum. “The first exception is that you may wear your glasses. I love a girl with glasses.”

“And now for you. Step over here. I thought that the incident with Jenny’s boyfriend would have proven that anyone who attempts to interfere gets similar treatment. Alison, you may no longer wear any form of clothing without my permission.” With this, he tore off Alison’s thong in the same manner that he had Emily’s. Judging from her neatly trimmed pubic hair, Alison was a natural blonde, Jenny noted. “Now, I have to move on.” This news did not seem to please the next girl in line, a slim redhead, who was already in tears. Emily picked up her glasses, dusted them off, then placed them back onto her nose. She looked at Alison. Alison looked at Emily. Then both girls suddenly broke into tears. Jenny could barely stop herself from laughing, although she knew she shouldn’t be amused; Emily just looked so comical, entirely naked except for her thick glasses, with tears running down her face and her nose turning red. Jenny stopped laughing, however, when she realized that this could easily be her fate. Natasha stopped by Emily with her camera took one quick picture of the two naked, sobbing girls, then patted Emily unreassuringly on the ass, and told her that there would be plenty of time for photographs later.

In only a few minutes, the rest of the girls were wearing nothing but their panties, except for the second to the last girl, a Japanese who apparently had been going commando that day. Jenny was somewhat relieved that she wasn’t the only girl wearing grannie panties, although she wasn’t certain why she would be chagrined that she was, considering the circumstances. Now Dr. Control turned to the girls to make an announcement.

“As you may recall, the second part of the bet was that you were not only to be stripped down to your panties, but spanked as well. As a humanitarian gesture, Natasha, rather than myself , will be doing the spanking. Actually, it’s because she enjoys it so much.” Natasha licked her lips with pornographic slowness, and slapped the ass of Sukie, the naked 22 year old Japanese girl, who yelped. Jenny had forgotten about the spanking, and she suddenly realized that yes, she could become more humiliated than she was now.

“Now, I was considering starting with Emily or Alison, since they’ve been so naughty, but both Natasha and I will have copious fun spanking them later, and so I’m going to start with the tart who nearly earned permanent nudity through pure arrogance and stupidity,” Dr. Control began, and Jenny had a sinking feeling in her gut. “Jenny, there is a chair backstage. Please, go back, and bring it here.” After standing still for a moment, Jenny realized that this was a request instead of a hypnotic, order, so she could, technically, refuse, although she didn’t dare. She turned and began walking towards the back of the stage.

“A little faster, or you’ll spend the rest of your life naked.” Jenny ran. The chair turned out to be a comfortable looking swivel chair, hidden from view just behind the curtain. She returned running, pushing the chair ahead of her, fully cognizant of the fact that all the men in the audience were watching her bouncing boobs. She stopped in front of the doctor, and he waited until she had finished jiggling before giving her the next order.

“No, no, Natasha will be spanking you, bring it to her, not me, or you’ll lose those panties for life, along with everything else. Now run!” Jenny did as she was bade, and again there was a pause so that everyone could fully appreciate the effects of momentum on her anatomy. Finally, Natasha turned the chair so that it was parallel to the edge of the stage, and sat down, so that the audience saw her in silhouette. She then gestured to her lap, and Jenny lay across Natasha’s knees, with her face towards the audience.

“No, no, no, you really want to spend the rest of your life naked, don’t you? The other way around,” demanded Natasha. Jenny reversed her position, so that she was now facing away from the audience. It was then that Natasha pulled Jenny’s panties down, so that her vagina was clearly visible to the entire audience. Natasha tapped Jenny’s ass softly with her fingers a couple of times, and Jenny relaxed, thinking that she wasn’t going to receive a serious spanking. “After all,” she thought, “wouldn’t Natasha’s hand get sore?” Then came the first real slap, so hard that it brought tears to Jenny’s eyes and made her yelp in pain. This was true humiliation, coupled with pain, but the most terrible bit was that, deep down, she found it somehow arousing, and that was even more humiliating. If only the audience didn’t notice. She heard Dr. Control’s digital camera beep.

“One.” Then another tremendous slap.

“Two.”

By the time Natasha got to one hundred, Jenny suspected that there were bruises on her backside. When she was allowed to stand up, she didn’t even think about the fact that the audience could see her entirely naked now, nor did she pay any attention to the fact that her panties, which had just been at her knees, fell to the floor; her only concern was her ass. She looked over her shoulder, and was relieved that it was just bright red, not black and blue. She was interrupted in her musings by a sudden hue and cry from the audience. Jenny was not in the habit of either shaving or trimming her pubic brush, and apparently that met with the audience’s disapproval. She glanced down, and heard the camera beep again. She looked up at Doctor Control. She hoped that he didn’t notice that her nipples were the hardest they had ever been in her life.

“Apparently, they think you need a shave. Frankly, I disagree. Congratulations, you just lucked out. Now, there are more girls to spank.”

During the next half hour, all the rest of the girls received their “punishments”. Jenny noted that Alison and Emily were the only other girls receive one hundred slaps, all the rest got only twenty-five. Jenny was beyond caring.

“Finally, our little show is coming to an end. It saddens me to say so, but all good things, you know. Alison, Emily, you have a choice. Either you can go out into the world, naked for the rest of your lives, or we can discuss other arrangements. As for the rest of you, I have a few final commands, and a warning. The warning is this; I would not recommend that you try to take legal action against us, as we would know, and would stop you, needless to say, humiliatingly. As for the commands, the first is that you must all get a tattoo on your left buttock. This tattoo is to be in the times roman font, 16 points tall, and is to read ‘spank me’. Oh, and Jenny, below that, yours should also read ‘...because I am a stupid, ignorant tart’,” Jenny bristled but knew that she had no choice in the matter, “the second command is that you must recommend this hypnosis show to all of your attractive young female friends, and the final command is this: come.”

And they did, simultaneously, right up there on stage.